Cure My Poison
by Respire-Sodastone
Summary: No witch could escape the poison known as boredom. It would eventually find, infect, and consume them. Kokichi Ouma was no exception. It would've stayed like that if he hadn't found the antidote known as Shuichi Saihara. Tsumugi observed it all, seething.


**Summary:**** No witch could escape the poison known as boredom. It would eventually find, infect, and consume them. Kokichi Ouma was no exception. It would've stayed like that if he hadn't found the antidote known as Shuichi Saihara.**

**Tsumugi observed it all, seething.**

**pairings: [saihara/ouma], [ouma/shirogane], [saihara/ouma/shirogane]**

* * *

.

.

.

The memories returned and suffocated him.

It felt like someone tore his brain apart. Kokichi felt like a tiny bug crushed under the sole of a human shoe. The cause of this was what many humans considered to be a trivial problem, but for witches like him, they were the bane of their existence.

What he felt, was the result of _boredom. _

Boredom from the lack of stimulation and excitement of the Fragments beneath him. There was absolutely nothing exciting to do in that world and the ones scattered beside it. In the millions of Fragments visited and hundreds of games spectated or played recently, he still hadn't found anything worth his time. During this time, unpleasant things resurfaced to his mind.

His head furniture came to console him, but that only made his headache worse. His red afro and checkered scarf were enough to make him relapse, and Kokichi changed his furniture into one of his butler outfits to soothe himself.

How foolish of Kokichi Ouma, the renowned Witch of Lies, to be overcome by such human emotions when he hadn't been human for a long, long, time.

These Fragments were positively dull and not good for his sanity. He wished one of his acquaintances challenged him to a game. It'd been approximately decades since he last saw one of them. Maybe.

Decades? A century? He wasn't sure because he couldn't tell the difference in a place like this. It could've been a week, but his feeble mind overexaggerated the numbers. Did he even remember how long a week was?

Ridiculous. There were sixty seconds in a minute, sixty minutes in an hour, twenty-four hours in a day, seven days in a week, fifty-two weeks in a year, ten years in a decade, ten decades in a century, and ten centuries in a millennium. Too bad this world didn't have a way to keep time. Or maybe that was a good thing; he'd think he'd go crazy if he knew how long he was here for. Maybe ten millenniums passed? Or a hundred? Or a thousand? Or…

"My Lord? Are you alright?" his furniture asked and _no _he was not alright. Kokichi put up a smile regardless and adjusted his military cap.

"Huh? Alright? I'm always fine!" he wheezed out. That was probably the worst lie he spouted in his…afterlife time.

"And I don't recall giving you permission to come here, _furniture_," he sneered, and an uncomfortable yet unidentifiable emotion flooded him after saying that.

The furniture no longer had a mask like his human counterpart, so Kokichi saw the crinkles of displeasure on his face. Not like furniture would be able to protest, anyway. They usually bantered when Kokichi had nothing to do, but Kokichi forgot about their existence in that moment. Maybe his human self would've felt remorse for forgetting the supposed most important people of his life, but he was not that Kokichi Ouma anymore.

He was a mess, a former shell of the Ultimate…something. His head pounded as it filled in the blank.

Ultimate Supreme Leader.

And everything flooded back. The isolation and loneliness. The murders. The sorrow. The guilt which he lost somewhere in this endless void.

_Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck._ Silly him, cursing like an undignified human.

Something – some_one _engulfed him. It wasn't the press, but a human's (not furniture) body. That person was warm and was a friend despite what other witches said. His furniture weren't things, he could never see them that way.

"We're here for you, Kokichi-sama," his nameless furniture said. (nameless, was he really? or was he just telling himself that?)

They stood there, in the unfamiliar place, for a long while until the memories faded into nothing but old shadows. In fact, Kokichi couldn't say with full certainty if he remembered the context of those memories, but they still lingered like scars.

"I told you to just call me Kokichi."

"That would be extremely disrespectful for furniture like me to refer to a witch of your status with such casualty." The response remained unchanging. Thankfully, with the way he created them, they didn't use his surname. If his minions ever said 'Ouma-sama,' he thinks he'd die for real.

Kokichi pouted, "Fine, be that way. But I'll have you know I'm your supreme overlord, and my word should be final, not the stupid opinion of those hags."

His furniture laughed and saluted. "Of course."

He was dismissed.

Hit the button. Reset.

What a boring day.

Where were his peasants to entertain him? Building new characters, creating new mysteries, forming a new world were too much work. It was lazy of Kokichi, but did he care? No. Other people should do the work for him.

The witch moved past the current section and moved to other Fragments. One universe after the other and nothing satisfied him quite as much as beating _her_ did. He almost cried at how shitty some of these mysteries were. Even his tie could create a better game than those idiots.

Maybe he'd obliterate the creator with just his words alone. It wouldn't be the first time.

He missed being human. Where everything seemed like an exciting adventure to him and mysteries weren't repetitive, caught his interest, and were difficult to solve.

He missed _her_.

"Bleeh! I can't believe I'm saying that," Kokichi huffed as crocodile tears came to his eyes despite nobody else being around.

By her, he meant Tsumugi Shirogane, the Witch of Replications.

How much time passed, he didn't know, but he's certain it'd been more than a century. He didn't even know if she still existed. The idea of her death sent a sharp pang in his gut. Yeah, he supposed he'd be sad if she died.

"_I'm not losing to you at anything anymore,"_ she had said with a challenging smirk. "_You'll die before me. I'll be a better witch than _you."

Those were last words he heard before leaving her place again. He used to make frequent visits to her place after leaving the game but started avoiding them for some reason. A reason he'd never admit.

How cute. Her, a territory witch, compared to him, a voyager – a witch of higher caliber.

"Tsumugi-chan's such a sore loser."

Sometimes, he regretted leaving their game permanently.

_Not true,_ his mind supplied, because despite his dissatisfaction with recent games were those hidden gems he'd witnessed on rare occasions which almost made leaving worth it. They were games way more creative and exciting than Tsumugi's would ever be with her thick skull and all. He found those games to be impressive even after everything became predictable to him.

Kokichi shook his head of his noisy thoughts, then dove down into the abyss, his cape fluttering along the way.

_I'll find you again, Tsumugi-chan. Then, we'll have lots of fun._

.

.

.

* * *

**[A/N]: ****I haven't written for a long time, but I had this idea I wanted to write out so we'll see how this goes. Comments and criticisms are welcome. Also I don't remember a lot of Umineko and my lazy self couldn't get it in me to finish parts of the novel yet (Episode 8) so some stuff about how their world works might be really off. **

**Also, Happy New Years! I hope wherever you are, this year will be great for you.**


End file.
